Page 21 of The Duke’s Untouched Bride (Regency Second Chances #3)

“ L ooking for company tonight, Your Grace?”

Owen kept his expression neutral as the gaming hall’s manager, a greasy man named Crocker, gestured toward the main floor.

The establishment reeked of cheap perfume and cheaper gin—exactly the sort of place Nicholas would have found amusing.

“I’m looking for information,” Owen said quietly. “About your female staff. Any new additions in the past few months?”

Crocker’s eyes lit up with understanding. “Ah, particular tastes, have we? Of course, we do. Let me round up the girls, let you have a look.”

“That won’t be necessary?—”

But Crocker was already signaling to someone. Within minutes, a parade of women filed into the office, their painted faces showing varying degrees of interest and exhaustion.

Owen scanned each face, knowing none would be Adele but needing to be thorough.

“Any French girls?” he asked when the last had been dismissed. “Someone might have come looking for work recently.”

“French?” Crocker scratched his chin. “Had one asking about a month back. Dark hair, pretty enough despite looking half-starved. But she wasn’t looking for this kind of work. Wanted serving or cleaning. Told her to try the factories.”

Owen’s pulse quickened. “Did she give a name?”

“Might’ve done. Marie? Adele? Something foreign.” Crocker’s eyes narrowed. “Is this information valuable to you, Your Grace?”

Owen slid a purse across the desk. “We never spoke. You never saw me.”

“Never saw who?” Crocker pocketed the money with practiced ease. “Pleasure not doing business with you, Your Grace.”

Owen made his way through the main room, avoiding eye contact with the patrons.

He’d nearly reached the door when a familiar voice called out, “Carridan? What the devil are you doing here?”

Felix materialized from the crowd with a redhead on his arm and a champagne flute in his hand. His usual easy smile faltered as he took in Owen.

“Business,” Owen replied curtly.

“Business.” Felix’s gaze flicked to Crocker’s office. “What kind of business does a married man have in a place like this?”

“The kind that doesn’t concern you.”

Felix extricated himself from his companion with practiced charm and steered Owen toward a quieter corner. “It concerns me if it affects Iris.”

“Everything I do is to protect Iris.”

“Is it?” Felix’s voice dropped. “Because if you ask me, it looks like you’re sneaking around gaming hells while your wife sits home with a baby.”

“You know nothing about it.”

“I know enough.” Felix stepped closer. “I know Iris is exhausted. I know she’s trying to do everything alone because you’re too busy with your ‘business’ to help. And now I find you here, doing God knows what.”

“I don’t need lectures from you,” Owen growled. “Especially not when you’re here, enjoying yourself with…” He gestured to the redhead, who was watching with avid interest.

“The difference is, I’m not married.” Felix’s usual humor had vanished entirely. “I haven’t made vows. I haven’t taken on responsibilities.”

“You think I don’t know my responsibilities?”

“I think you’re so focused on protecting everyone that you’re forgetting to be there for them.” Felix shook his head. “Go home, Carridan. Whatever you’re looking for here, it’s not worth what you’re risking.”

Owen left without another word. Felix’s accusations followed him into the night.

Was he protecting Iris by searching for Adele, or was he just using it as another excuse to keep his distance?

The moment he entered the townhouse, he knew something was wrong.

The usual quiet order had been replaced by chaos. He could hear crying from upstairs. The sound wasn’t anything like Evie’s usual fussing but full-throated wails.

He found Iris in the nursery, pacing frantically with a screaming Evie. His wife looked like she’d been through a battle. Her dress was stained, her hair disheveled, and her face showed the strain of hours of struggle.

“Where have you been?” She whirled on him with her eyes blazing. “I’ve been dealing with this all day. Mrs. Pemberton is ill because I’ve worn her out. Sally has her own duties. And you’re off doing whatever it is you do.”

“Iris—”

“Take her.” She thrust Evie at him. “Please, just take her.”

Owen hesitated. He’d never held Evie before. The baby’s face was red with fury as she waved her tiny fists.

“I don’t?—”

“Take her!”

He accepted the struggling bundle and held her awkwardly. Evie’s cries intensified.

“There now,” he said stiffly. “That’s quite enough noise.”

Iris laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Oh yes, reason with her. That’ll work.”

“Well, what would you have me do?”

“I don’t know! Something. Anything .” She sank into the rocking chair and dropped her face into her hands. “I’m so tired that I can’t think anymore.”

Owen looked down at Evie, then back at his disheveled wife.

She was right. He’d been absent, leaving her to manage alone while he chased shadows around London’s underground.

“Young ladies don’t carry on so,” he told Evie seriously. “A bit of dignity, if you please.”

“You’re hopeless.” Iris started to rise. “Give her back.”

“No.” He shifted Evie to his shoulder and felt her small body tremble with the force of her cries. “Let me try something else.”

The melody came from somewhere deep in his memory.

It was a sea shanty his grandfather had sung long ago. The tune was old, even in Owen’s recollection. His singing voice was rusty from disuse, but he managed the opening lines.

“ Away, haul away, we’ll haul away together …”

Evie’s cries faltered slightly.

Encouraged, he continued, and swayed gently as his grandfather had done.

“ Away, haul away, we’ll haul for better weather …”

The crying slowed to hiccups. Owen kept singing as the words came back to him across the years.

By the second verse, Evie had quieted completely. Her dark eyes fixed on his face with fascination.

“How did you do that?” Iris’s voice was barely a whisper.

“My grandfather.” Owen continued swaying and kept his voice soft. “He was in the navy before he inherited the duchy. Used to sing this when I was ill. Said the rhythm reminded him of the ocean.”

“I didn’t know you could sing.”

“I can’t. Not really.” He looked down at Evie, who was now blinking sleepily. “But she doesn’t seem to mind.”

They stood there in the lamplight, close enough that he could smell the faint scent of lavender beneath the sour milk and exhaustion.

Iris’s face had softened. The anger from before was replaced by something that made his heart race even faster.

“Owen…” she breathed, and he felt like he’d burst into pieces.

She could do that just by uttering his name.

No, it had to be the noise Evie was making before. That had rattled him.

Iris stepped closer, and for a moment, he thought she might touch him. The air between them crackled with possibility.

But then Evie stirred, making a small sound of protest.

“She’s nearly asleep,” he said quietly. “I’ll put her down. You should rest.”

“I should help?—”

“No.” He moved toward the cradle. “When did you last eat? When did you last sit down without her in your arms?”

“I… I don’t remember.”

“Then go. Bathe. Eat. Sleep.” He tucked Evie into her cradle all while maintaining the gentle swaying motion. “I’ll stay with her.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“Go, Iris.”

Iris hesitated in the doorway. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. This is what I should have been doing all along.”

After she left, Owen stood there, watching Evie sleep.

She was such a small thing but had managed to disrupt their lives so completely.

But standing there in the quiet nursery, he realized the disruption went deeper than crying babies and sleepless nights.

Iris was right. He’d been so focused on protecting them from external threats that he’d failed to simply be present.

Felix was right, too. What good was hunting for Adele if it meant leaving Iris to struggle alone?

Evie stirred, and he hummed the shanty again.

His grandfather would have laughed to see him now. He was the Duke of Carridan, the man who’d sworn off family, singing lullabies in the dark.

As Evie settled back into sleep, Owen thought maybe that was the point. Maybe some promises were meant to be broken.

Tomorrow, he’d tell Iris about Crocker and the lead on Adele. Tomorrow, they’d find a proper nurse, someone warm and capable who understood that babies needed love as much as milk.

Tonight, he’d simply stand guard over this small life they’d claimed and try to remember all the lyrics of his grandfather’s songs.